DeKok and the Somber Nude Read online

  DeKok did not answer at once. He had a very annoying habit of ignoring things when he wanted to do so. This time, however, it was inadvertent. Hands under his chin, both elbows firmly on the edge of the desk, he looked thoughtfully at nothing in particular. A sudden thought occupied his mind.

  “You know,” he said suddenly, “addiction can cause people to do the strangest things. Even the meekest may be moved to violent acts. When they’re unable to get a fix or if their drug is withheld, they’re liable to do anything…even murder.”

  Amazed, Vledder looked at DeKok.

  “You’re not thinking that Frank Bog…” he did not finish the sentence.

  “What?”

  “You don’t think Frank Bogaard had anything to do with Nanette’s disappearance?”

  “What’s so strange about that?”

  “Nothing, I mean, but…”

  DeKok stood up from his chair and started to pace across the dusty floor of the detective room. He could arrange his thoughts better to the beat of his shuffling gait.

  “What did Frank Bogaard do?” he asked in the tone of a professor in front of his students. “What did he do when he became uncomfortable just now?”

  Almost mechanically Vledder answered, “He went into convulsions and started to cry out.”

  “Exactly, he started to cry out. For whom did he cry out? Nanette. Why?”

  Vledder shrugged his shoulders.

  “He wanted her, eh, he needed her.”

  “What for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  DeKok halted in front of Vledder.

  “All right, taking into account his addiction, what did Frank need more than anything at that time?”

  “His next fix.”

  DeKok nodded approvingly.

  “Exactly. And whose name did he keep shouting?”

  “Nanette’s!”

  Suddenly there was a gleam in young Vledder’s eyes.

  “Of course,” he exclaimed, “he called Nanette but meant morphine!”

  DeKok raised an index finger in a most pedantic manner.

  “And what does that mean?” he asked.

  “That means,” answered Vledder, suddenly very serious, “that in Frank’s mind the notions of morphine and Nanette are closely interrelated. There is really almost no difference.”

  DeKok let himself down in his chair.

  “In other words, Nanette is his supplier.”

  Sighing, Vledder shook his head.

  “It was right in front of me,” he said, still shocked by the quick succession of startling thoughts. “Nanette Bogaard, the wild daisy from Ye Three Roses, is also a drug dealer.”

  “Whoa there, my young friend, don’t go overboard. She supplies Frank, or at least used to. Of that I’m almost certain. But it is premature to suspect her of being a dealer in the sense you describe. We cannot conclude that.”

  Vledder grinned.

  “Premature? First of all we can safely assume that Frank pays dearly for his pleasures. We’re not going to assume, I hope, that Nanette delivers free of charge?”

  DeKok pulled on his lower lip and let it plop back. He repeated the gesture. It made a most annoying sound.

  “Free of charge? No, street prices are pretty hefty. But I don’t think that Nanette is in it for the money. You remember what Kristel told us? Nanette isn’t interested in money, she couldn’t care less.”

  “Yes, yes,” exclaimed Vledder, animated, “that’s what Kristel said. But how far can we trust her? Perhaps that entire flower shop is no more than a front for drug trafficking.”

  DeKok laughed heartily.

  “Oh, yes, for sure,” he mocked. “I can see it now: a field full of poppies at the ancestral homesite in Aalsmeer, and an opium distillery from The Three Bottles down the street.”

  Vledder pulled a face, discouraged by DeKok’s cynical tone.

  “Well yes, if you put it that way,” he said almost shyly. “It was only a theory, you know.”

  DeKok grinned. His old, craggy face looked almost boyish.

  “Well don’t let it get you down. I was only joking. You’re right, the flower shop could be an ideal front. But I don’t believe it is. No, I don’t believe it at all. It requires a completely different setup and different characters—more cunning, calculating, and callous. I went to Ye Three Roses this afternoon and had Kristel show me around. I talked to her…” He smiled softly to himself. “It was a bit exciting at times. Kristel van Daalen is an extremely beautiful woman, you know. In her own environment she has a sphere of influence.” Dreamily he stared into the distance as if fascinated by his own thoughts.

  Vledder looked searchingly at his old mentor, a slightly disturbed look on his face.

  “And?” he asked.

  Absentmindedly DeKok looked up.

  “Oh, nothing. I mean, well, eh, I didn’t get any further. That’s to say I don’t know any more than we knew this morning.”

  It was Vledder’s turn to grin.

  “Nanette Bogaard has disappeared, and beautiful Kristel expects the worst. That’s the way it is, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Yes, my boy, that’s the way it is.”

  At that moment the phone rang.

  Vledder answered, listened intently, then passed the receiver to DeKok.

  “It’s for you.”

  DeKok pulled his chair closer to the desk.

  “This is DeKok. Who’s calling?”

  “Never mind that,” said the voice at the other end of the line, “I just want to help you in the right direction is all.”

  “What direction…with what?”

  “You’ll find out, Mr. DeKok. I advise you to take a look on Mirror’s Canal.”

  “Mirror’s Canal?”

  “Yes, the quiet side of the water.”

  “And what will I find there?”

  The line remained silent for a while. The caller was obviously deliberating.

  “Are you interested in antiques?”

  “Not especially.”

  “You might find them worth your attention. Goodnight, Mr. DeKok.”

  “Goodnight.”

  The caller hung up.

  For several seconds DeKok remained motionless, the receiver still in his hand clamped to one ear. He was searching among the relics in the attic of his brain—a memory, a point of reference. He did not find anything that gave him a clue. He could not place the voice. The insistent buzzing of an occupied line broke his concentration. Softly he replaced the receiver.

  “Who was it?” asked Vledder.

  DeKok shrugged his shoulders.

  “An unknown lover of antiques, I think. I was advised to take a look on the quiet side of Mirror’s Canal.”

  “For what?”

  “Antiques, I think. You’ll find that both sides of Mirror’s Canal are occupied by antiques stores, or stores that purport to sell antiques. They stand shoulder to shoulder.” He stood up and shuffled over to grab his raincoat and decrepit little hat.

  “I think we should take a look,” he said.

  “Now?” Vledder voiced his surprise.

  “Why not?”

  Vledder sighed.

  “What if it’s a joke?”

  DeKok made a helpless gesture.

  “Well then, at least somebody will be amused.”

  7

  Vledder drove through the old inner city of Amsterdam. Nimbly, as bold as a taxi driver, he managed to squeeze the old VW through obstacles, streams of traffic, and the thousands upon thousands of bicycles.

  On the passenger side DeKok was sprawled out in his seat. A happy smile played on his lips. He loved the unknown. It attracted him irresistibly. That was the main reason he reacted so spontaneously to the strange tip over the telephone. It was ridiculous if one stopped to think about it, almost like some boyish adventure. He wondered what he would find on Mirror’s Canal. What did the mysterious caller want him to find? Would it connect to the disappearance of Nanette?

  Past the tow
n hall they turned along Emperor’s Canal and waited patiently for the red light at the corner of Leiden Street. They parked shortly thereafter at the intersection of New Mirror Street and Mirror’s Canal. Vledder dimmed the lights and turned the ignition off.

  He looked at DeKok, who was pressing himself upright. Vledder’s young face wore a glum look. He showed no desire to get out of the car. DeKok looked at him from the side.

  “We’re here, my boy,” he said, engagingly. “Would you rather have gone on your date after all?”

  Vledder leaned forward on the steering wheel.

  “It isn’t that. You know that. If necessary, I’m ready to go night and day with you, step by step and hour after hour, even if you want to go to the North Pole.”

  DeKok grinned expansively.

  “Such loyalty!”

  Abruptly Vledder turned toward him.

  “Loyal, yes, loyal, that’s me—however I’m also forthright. You see, I don’t use dirty police tricks on my colleagues.”

  DeKok looked at him with amazement.

  “Dirty police tricks?”

  “Yes, dirty police tricks. If you had to know so urgently, I mean, if you really wanted to know how it is between me and my girl, you could have just asked me. It wasn’t necessary to use any of your transparent interrogation tricks on me.” He imitated DeKok’s voice with devastating effectiveness: ‘Does she wear underwear with the days embroidered on them?’” He snorted. “What do you care what sort of undergarments Celine wears?”

  With difficulty DeKok managed to suppress a loud, boisterous laugh. It caused a slight pain in his chest.

  “Oh, oh,” he said finally, “so her name’s Celine?”

  “Yes,” answered Vledder sharply, “and she isn’t at all the sort of girl who you apparently envision.”

  DeKok turned in his seat and put a reassuring hand on Vledder’s shoulder.

  “Listen, my boy,” he said convincingly in a fatherly tone of voice, “I really wasn’t trying to satisfy any prurient curiosity, and I most certainly was not trying to practice any dirty police tricks on you. Please take my word. I’ll explain everything later in more detail. As far as Celine is concerned, I’m sure she’s a very dear girl. You most certainly seem to have fallen for her, and not just a little, either. I wouldn’t mind meeting her.”

  Vledder looked at him suspiciously.

  “You mean that?”

  “Yes, you should introduce her as soon as possible,” nodded DeKok. “How about next Sunday? I’ll ask my wife to organize a little party.”

  Vledder’s expression changed. It became happier and sunnier. He was obviously mollified.

  “Yes, that sounds like a great idea,” he said with sudden enthusiasm. “Yes, we’ll do that. We’ll come. You can count on that. Yes, we’ll look forward to it.”

  Vledder’s moods had a habit of changing rather quickly.

  DeKok looked at him once more and his eyebrows started to vibrate, as if in preparation of their famous dance across his forehead.

  “From where I sit,” he said slowly, “this may well be the love of your life. Yes, love with a capital L.” He nodded to himself.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re already speaking in pluralis majestatis.”

  “In what?”

  DeKok grinned.

  “Pluralis majestatis,” he lectured, “plural as in royal plural. You know, as in ‘We, Edward, by the grace of God, King.…’ The press uses the same sort of plural form. And old married couples, of course. It’s a disease. ‘We’ this and ‘we’ that. After a few years of marriage it has been known to be incurable.”

  There was nobody in sight on Mirror’s Canal. The roadways on both sides of the canal were pretty much deserted. A car would pass occasionally, its turn signal blinking as it rounded the corner. But other than that nothing stirred.

  Vledder and DeKok divided the task. Alert, prepared for anything, each started at one end of the canal and approached the other. Nothing in particular attracted their attention. They met in the middle.

  Vledder shrugged his shoulders.

  “Nothing, absolutely nothing. I think somebody pulled a prank on us.” He gestured at the dark houses around. “Perhaps they’re watching us even now, laughing from behind a darkened window.”

  DeKok pushed his hat farther back on his head.

  “I don’t believe it’s a joke,” he said seriously. “We’ve only just skimmed the surface, so to speak. We were told to pay attention to antiques. We haven’t done that yet.”

  “What do you want?” asked Vledder. “Do you really want to look in the storefronts of all these shops?”

  “There seems no other way,” nodded DeKok.

  Vledder started to chuckle to himself.

  “What are we looking for? Oil lamps, nightstands with wormholes, bed warmers, silver candlesticks, rusty weather vanes, chamber pots? What’s your preference?”

  DeKok looked at his pupil with a slightly disapproving look.

  “Just think of this,” he said patiently, “as a real tip and not a wild-goose chase. The tipster wants us to discover something. He wants us to see it.”

  “Understandable, but how do we figure out what?” Vledder grimaced.

  “Simple. It’s something we would not recognize at first glance but from which the tipster expects us to draw conclusions. You understand? It must be a recognizable hint no matter what direction it leads. We’re looking for the clue, not necessarily the object. Otherwise the phone call would make no sense at all.”

  “Clear as mud, but it covers the ground,” nodded Vledder. Sometimes he could mix metaphors with the best of them.

  “All right then, you start from the side of Prince’s Canal and I’ll start from the other side. Look carefully. Look at everything you see and try to visualize if any of the items could contain a hint we can use. If something, no matter how strange, draws your attention, you call me.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  They separated and began to search, each on his own end of the short canal. Slowly they ambled from one store to the next. A wild kaleidoscope of old objects passed by them, displayed helter-skelter in dusty little shops, small storefronts, and even some basement windows. Again they met approximately in the middle.

  “And?”

  Sadly Vledder shook his head.

  “I saw nothing in particular. And you?”

  DeKok rubbed his hands over his face.

  “No,” he admitted soberly, “me neither. There were endless scales, statues, unmatched chairs, flowerpots, lanterns, frames, more statues. The same junk everywhere.”

  Vledder laughed.

  “Come,” he said cajolingly, “let’s go home.”

  He took the grey sleuth by the arm and tried to pull him toward the car.

  “Tomorrow is another day. It’s been enough for today.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost midnight.”

  DeKok could not be moved. He stood his ground, stubborn. He scratched underneath his hat.

  “There’s got to be something,” he exclaimed, irritated. “There must be. That call was not for nothing. It absolutely had a purpose. I’m old enough to detect the difference between a serious call and a joke. It wasn’t a joke.” He pressed his lips together. “You know what?” he continued vehemently. “We need to keep looking. I’ll look in the stores you have looked at and you take my half. Understand? There is no other way. We must have missed something.”

  “Okay, boss,” answered Vledder, bored.

  DeKok looked at him.

  “One more ‘Okay, boss,’” he said sharply and suddenly full of menace, “and I’ll pull a gun on you.”

  Vledder was shocked by the sudden change of tone.

  “Oh, eh, okay…”

  DeKok grinned at the reaction. He never carried a weapon.

  “All right, my boy,” he said with much more warmth, “let’s try it one more time. If we still find nothing, then we’ll call it a night.”

  Ag
ain they shuffled from window to window, one antique display to another. Carefully they looked at the items. What could be significant enough to move someone to call the police? And who was the caller? Why so secretive?

  DeKok thought it over. If only he could identify the tipster he would have a better idea as to what kind of clue was hidden among the junk. While his eyes scanned the windows, his brain worked on a different level. He was looking for an answer, not just a clue. But neither his eyes nor his brain could come up with a solution.

  DeKok was suddenly startled into an awareness of his surroundings. Vledder was standing next to him, tapping him on the shoulder.

  “Come on,” he said seriously, “I think I found something.”

  “Where?”

  “A couple of doors down.”

  Meekly DeKok followed his pupil. Vledder halted in front of an old canal house with a bluestone stoop. He pointed diagonally upward. There was no store window, not in the strict sense of the word. The house had obviously been a residence in the dim past and then was converted into a store. The window revealed a showroom. It was dimly lit, and the various objects were spread out in the shadowy space. DeKok had passed the window twice and had not noticed anything in particular. He looked along the pointing arm of Vledder.

  “What are you pointing at?”

  “The painting.”

  “Where?”

  “On the wall, just above the antique pistols.”

  DeKok’s glance traveled upward, and then suddenly he saw it. It was a large, somewhat dark painting contained in a heavily gilded broad frame decorated with scrollwork and arabesques. The canvas had been painted in a simple figurative style, allowing the contours to softly flow into the background of somber blue and intense purple. The painting was uncommonly fascinating, and DeKok could not understand how he could have missed it before.

  It was a nude seated on a low old-fashioned sofa of red brocade with a backrest edged in a stylized curving black wood. The figure of the young woman had been painted with great tenderness. The nuances in the soft pink of the skin and the gloss of the long waving hair bore witness to the intense emotion and loving attention directed at the subject. Although the nude was depicted in realistic detail, there was no hint of either sexual provocation or stimulation.